My dad has the original copy straight from the typewriter. In fact its sitting on my desk right now.

Just thought you might find this interesting.

SIGNED: NO

NORTHERN EXPOSURE STORE BURNS

ROSLYN, Wash. (AP) — A storefront seen on the television series "Northern Exposure" was destroyed by fire, and its owner collapsed and died. The building occupied by Village Pizza was part of the Main Street scene in opening credits for the quirky CBS series, canceled in 1995 after a five-year run. The wood-frame building, about IOO years old, was a total loss after Monday’s fire. The owner, Harry Balmer, about 60, collapsed and died while running from the business, Fire Chief Gerald Tritt said. He apparently suffered a heart attack.

EDITORS NOTE: Harry Balmer, a Telluride resident in the 1970s, reportedly passed away in Roslyn, Washington. Reports say he died of a heart attack while barely escaping from his pizza parlor storefront, the Village Pizza, which was burning to the ground. That storefront was seen weekly on CBS’s 'Northern Exposure,'
which was filmed in Roslyn.

Balmer lived in Telluride with wife Nan, and
several children, some of which became excellent skiers. His welding shop
was located at the present site of Baked in Telluride. Fall Creek resident
Ed Werner, a close personal friend of Balmer’s, has written the following regarding his fond recollections:

TELLURIDE DAILY PLANET

I believe I first met Harry down at the old Flour Garden — a local
breakfast spot during Telluride’s “Early Days.” Every morning he would
be holding court, talking philosophy and Buddhism.

Harry was an imposing figure — featuring a long beard which he fingered
to a point when talking. He reminded me of a beneficent Viking, a biker,
but as gentle as a lamb. He was an “in your face” kind of guy, effervescent
with the enthusiasm of one experiencing the joy of enlightenment. He liked
to prod his listeners’ attention by poking one finger into your chest.

I recall that finger being a stub. The fact is, he had your attention
simply by standing there.

Harry was primarily an artist educated at Temple; he was a welder by
trade. I hired him to fabricate a weathervane for the tower of the Wilcox
house, later demolished to make way for the Salem house on upper Oak Street.
This salvaged object now graces my roof and points the way, as did Harry.

When I moved to Telluride in 1977, most of the residents were single,
or in loosely confederated couples. Parenthood and family were certainly
on the far horizon. Harry was a “dad,” and one really got a sense of a
loving, accepting family when visiting their compact home on the left side
of Baked in Telluride. It took “great love” to be a family in that little
space.

I could visit the Balmers and feel I had visited “mom” and “dad.”

The walls of their home were covered with his works of art. Bits of
paper on a field of color suggested to me a trail strewn with autumn leaves.
(Life and art merged seamlessly.)

Being a father came naturally, being the center of attention through
his discourses seemed more of an effort.

Unpretentious, he shouldered responsibility with no apparent effort.

Waking today, we mentioned to each other, “This is a rat race.”

A Zen proverb goes, “I labor every day, and struggle to keep it going.
How do I avoid all of this?” The answer: “You get up, you eat your food,
you do your job. This is correct action.”

Coming empty-handed, leaving empty-handed, Harry gave a lot the early
flavor of Telluride, yet gained little. Like a bay leaf in soup, he gave
a distinctive uniqueness to that early town, yet he pulled out of town
with little more than he brought.

I kept loosely in touch with Harry and Nan over the years. Just yesterday
in our kitchen we brought up again his tenets of “Values, Morals and Ethics,”
and awareness of the problems of the world.

So, I have known and loved Harry nearly 20 years. What have I gained
these many years? The morning sun rises, children eating breakfast. “School
bus in 15 minutes.” “Eat your breakfast.”

Fundamentally, our experience as experienced is not different from the Zen master's. Where we differ is that we place a fog, a particular kind of conceptual overlay onto that experience and then make an emotional investment in that overlay, taking it to be "real" in and of itself.